


Crash the Gates, Light a Fire and Watch it Burn

by breatheforeverypart



Series: Maxim(ize) the Trauma [2]
Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, C-PTSD, F/M, Hunting down the bad guys, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentor Natasha, tags to be edited as this fic progresses, trauma like whoa, women kicking ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 22:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: Welcome to part 2!  We pick up right where we left off, but from the perspective of the team.  The Avengers are searching for Nat and Wanda, who are in a world of trouble for taking the law into their own hands.  No one is quite sure what happened to Bucky.  What matters is that he remains in a coma, several weeks after being found at an old H.Y.D.R.A. base.Can Clint and Steve follow the bloody breadcrumbs across haunted bases around the world?  Can Natasha teach Wanda enough to keep her alive as they relive old traumas?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Maxim(ize) the Trauma [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149299
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Crash the Gates, Light a Fire and Watch it Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for being patient. This chapter skips around a bit between characters at Stark Tower. The Avengers are dealing with Bucky's injuries and how to separate the media's portrayal of Natasha and Maximoff from who they know the Black Widow to be. This will be quite the long story, where I will address a lot of the underlying trauma that Wanda and Nat must have experienced. In my 'verse Wanda had been tortured and 'trained' by ex-members of the Red Room. Her life has had her cross paths with both Natasha and Bucky.

***

Tony whistled morbid appreciation at the monitor. The footage had been shot with a crappy smartphone and made the evening news in most countries with reliable internet connections.

“That’s not tech based, it’s organic, but mutant. The Big Guy’s cannonballs wish they could made waves like that.” He jabbed a finger at the paused scene. 

Tony resumed the stream and spun around in the office chair. Lab equipment hummed and whirred as it compiled data. Stark Tower operated around the clock, with minimal effort from the company’s namesake. Pepper managed the day to day duties, without involving her husband in all the ‘boring shit’. She also planned ahead and had set aside a science-bros lab. 

All employees were banned from the lab, only Avengers were allowed in. But most of the team didn’t like the sterilized feel of the workroom. Once Bruce had christened the space with an electric kettle, Pepper considered the endeavor a success. Tony could and had worked from anywhere, including from the Barton’s poorly insulated barn. 

Tony chomped on a partially congealed slice of pizza. “I would’ve made a small fortune when I was selling arms if I managed to made things go boom like that.” He zoomed in on the debris masked in smoke, but the more he magnified the scene, the less clear the picture became. The damage certainly resembled the aftermath of an explosion. 

Bruce squinted at the screen. He seemed to try to bury himself in his zip up hoodie like a turtle. “You’ve got a large fortune.” 

He laughed and rolled his eyes. Tony stuck out his feet to slow the rotation of the chair. “I mean, Red’s doppelganger is something else. Brucie, can you imagine what we could do with her abilities? I have so many ideas, there’s not enough coffee to fuel them.”

Dr. Banner flushed green and adjusted his glasses. Talk of violence always made him jittery, in an earthquake kind of way. “Using caffeine like that…is totally against Pepper’s rules. Not to mention your heart, and the core…there’s too many variables.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “Chicken.” 

“Yes, I definitely am a peaceful poultry.” Bruce tapped a sneaker against the lab’s floor and shrugged his already tensed shoulders. 

Tony shot Dr. Banner double-barreled finger guns and resumed spinning. “Wasn’t a compliment.” 

Bruce clenched his fists and fought the Big Guy for control of their amygdala. 

“Hang on, you’re saying you found them?” Steve interrupted, rubbing his forehead as he spoke. The man didn’t wrinkle, but stress might change that. 

Dr. Banner folded himself into a shallow futon that had materialized after a series of all-night experiments and let the co-team leaders talk. 

“No.” Tony admitted. He brushed crumbs from the creases of his jeans. “Not in the physical sense…like a body.” He mimed a cartoon-ish figure of a woman. 

“Tony, please.” Steve croaked. Somehow despite the super-serum, dark bags had taken permanent residence under his eyes. “I can’t do this dance now.” 

“Cranky Cap.” Tony propped his crossed legs up on a console and studied the superhero. “Fine, I don’t know where they are, but Jarvis and I are analyzing the environmental factors to narrow possible locations.” 

Steve made a noise of acknowledgement. Bruce tinkered with a software program over Tony’s shoulder on a tablet. Nothing had changed. The woman who had saved his life both officially and unofficially was still A.W.O.L. with an entity contained in a teenager that was considered armed and extremely dangerous. 

His feet carried him to the medical floor. Dr. Cho greeted him with a nod from behind the nurses’ hub. He tried to contort his face into a placid grin, but probably managed to look like a homicidal clown. 

“I’m back Buck. There’s no news.” Steve hovered a hand over the foot of the bed. He had been more machine than human after H.Y.D.R.A. But, he had been a thinly disguised corpse. Since his rescue, Bucky’s condition hadn’t changed for better or worse. 

He perched on the edge of the stiff vinyl chair. Steve tried to think of what to say, but everything soured in his mouth before the words formed in his brain.

If Bucky had been sentenced to purgatory, Steve would keep vigil until the end of this life or the beginning of his next adventure. 

When he failed to speak, he tapped his fingers on Bucky’s knuckles. He played melodies of Fitzgerald and Sinatra. He clung to the hope that the notes to familiar songs might reach his partner, like a beam from a lighthouse. If the cause of his comatose state had been the perfect storm of triggers and trauma, maybe a formula of unearthed memories would call him home. 

***

Clint was more awake then not when Lila began to cry. She skipped the quiet sobs and launched straight into screaming for her parents. The annual flu had hit Skye’s school earlier than expected. Only Laura had managed to get the annual vaccine before the illness took out the entire family like a perfectly executed strike in bowling. 

Skye had spent the last 72 hours existing on flat Ginger Ale and the occasional orange-flavored popsicle. Laura had recently graduated from the bathroom floor to being able to lay on her side without puking. 

His wife bristled at the wailing, but didn’t move. Clint wiped drool from the corners of her mouth and she responded by snuggling deeper into the nest of sweaty bedding that separated them. 

Clint began mentally preparing himself to sneak out of the bed. There would be oodles and oodles of laundry to do tomorrow. Which reminded him, if Skye could keep down plain-ass rice for breakfast, she’d want oodles of noodles for dinner. 

As he extracted his torso from Laura’s grip, his thoughts turned to his eldest daughter. Hopefully, the combination of Skye’s deafness and her recent dose of Tylenol would allow her to stay submerged in fevered dreams. The spare baby monitor that had been placed in her bedroom had been quiet for an hour now. The video display showed her room in shades of gray, but the lump of blankets twitched occasionally. The sight reassured Clint as he stuffed his feet into slippers. 

“Mm.” With her eyes shut Laura creaked upright like a mummy in a low-budget horror film. “Not gonna puke…’M fine.” She wobbled like a weighted toy for babies. 

Somehow, Clint had been spared of the pestilence which left him in charge of the entire family. “I’ll go.” He stuffed his left aid in place and switched it on. “Stay here baby. I got this.” The feedback sent a shiver to his toes. 

Clint pulled the door closed behind him and shuffled towards Lila’s room. He was pretty sure Laura had slipped back into a twilight state before he straightened his spine. At least when she tipped over, she’d land on relatively clean bedding. 

“What’s up buttercup?” He flicked on the lamp that sat on the dresser. Laura and Nat had stamped butterflies on the shade during a craft day. Skye had a matching light in her room, they called them sister-bugs. Clint had known then, that the girls were forging a sibling bond. 

His daughter hiccupped a sob. “Daddy. Bup.” 

Huh? He was too tired to lipread a toddler’s confusing thought process. “Come here, Lila-bug. It’s okay.” 

“Bup.” She repeated, pointing at a puddle of sick that splattered the side of her bed and spilled over onto the carpet. 

“Ohhh.” Clint examined the space between them before crossing the distance to his youngest. He tiptoed across the whorled patterned rug to the toddler-sized bed. “Lilabug, you didn’t burp. You got sick.” He explained as he tried to catalogue all the crusty splotches of sick on her clothes and person. 

She lifted her arms to her father. “Mama?” He obliged, but held her far enough away that the puke dripped to the floor to be absorbed by the area rug. 

“Yeah, like Mama and Skye.” He unzipped her PJ’s and kicked them towards the door. Aw hell, what did more laundry matter? He’d have to strip the mattress anyway. It would be an adventure sleeping on the couch, after all. 

“Arms up.” He quickly wiped her down, before pulling a pajama top over her head. He repeated the process with her pants and realized way too late that everything was mismatched. The parenting equivalent of a car wash was more than enough for the middle of the night cleaning. 

Clint thanked Costco for industrial sized baby wipes as he tossed the umpteenth disposable cloth on the floor. He’d worry about the clean up when his daughter smelled less like a dumpster in Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Dirty.” Lila said. She swiped at his pajama bottoms, imitating Clint’s cleaning. She squeezed a damp wipe in her tiny fist. “Fix, Daddy. Fix.” 

Clint’s resolve disintegrated like the feeling in his legs. Goodness he was getting old, too old to keep going on missions without stretching first. 

Maybe he was coming down with the plague that had felled the rest of his family. Lila patted his cheek with the wipe. “Daddy. ‘Kay?” Her sour breath re-oriented him and allowed him to continue cleaning on auto-pilot. 

“Okay.” Clint held her close, her little head laying against his shoulder. 

He needed to fix much more than puked on clothes and bedding. Natasha had disappeared, with Wanda Maximoff from his own property. He might be burned from S.H.I.E.L.D. Maria wouldn’t take his calls and Coulson had sent a fruit basket. Things were undecided, but looking pretty bad for his future as a spy. 

The aforementioned duo might be responsible for bringing down rumored terrorist rings on at least one, possibly two continents. If they weren’t found by Stark, they would be executed on sight. He knew that Natasha would survive, but Wanda was a novice fugitive. That was a dangerous liability. 

Both women were fugitives of S.H.I.E.L.D. And wanted for murder in multiple countries. Not to mention the damage that their running had done to Skye and their fragile family. 

Right. He had one choice. As soon as the virus worked itself out of the Barton’s lives, he would take all his phones off silent mode drop in on Stark’s compound. 

There were no other options. He had to find Auntie Nat and the curious teenager that had forced her way into their hearts. He had managed to bring her in before, and he would again. 

***

“Double shot, with coconut foam.” Clint shoved the excessively large cup at Cap. 

“The foam, is cream?” Steve sniffed at the lid. “Is there coffee under there?” 

“That’s debatable.” Clint swirled the contents of his own cup. “But Matt treated me to this artisanal shit, that Foggy adores. I figure, if it’s pure enough for Murdock’s sensitive taste buds…we’ll be fine. Plus, I’m almost 99% sure it’s caffeinated.” 

Caffeine was a safe topic and both men cowardly avoided any conversation of real substance. Any discussion of Hawkeye’s secret family or trouble at S.H.I.E.L.D were strictly off limits. Conflict always bubbled just under the surface of the Avengers dynamic, but thus far it had worked for them. Mostly. 

“Thanks. Sometimes, I don’t understand modern times. But coffee’s come a long, long, long way since I started drinking it.” They lapsed into silence, listening to the machines that monitored Bucky’s body. 

Steve had accidentally eavesdropped on Hawkeye’s conversation with Maria and it didn’t sound good. Really, he had not meant to hear. He hated feeling like he had done wrong. The serum had perfected all of his senses, sometimes he missed who he used to be. The scrawny kid who picked all the wrong fights and made stupid choices. 

“How dare you, Barton.” Stark feigned shock and stomped his feet on the floor of the private medical suite. 

Clint rolled his eyes and drained the last of his coffee. “Tony, you have access to the best beans in the world. I brought Rogers coffee to make him more pliable to my plan.” 

“Well, if this was a bribe, then it’s wrong...” Steve frowned at what had become a moral dilemma. Everyone in the room, except for Bucky practically saw the gears in Steve’s head turning as he debated the ethics of drinking the fancy beverage. 

“Fine.” Clint shrugged. He reached for the Rogers’ drink. 

“Wait!” Steve yelped. “But…I like it.” 

“That’s it, Cap. Come to the dark side.” Tony cackled. He steepled his fingers and quirked an eyebrow like a villain. 

“Loki’s laugh is not a good color on you.” Steve sipped the cup. “It’s expected, but not nice.” 

Clint blanched at the mention of Thor’s mightily complicated brother. “Let’s not invoke ass-guardian god’s names in this conversation.” 

Tony grinned as he began crafting a retort. Verbal sparring nearly overtook his obsession to invent and improve current tech. In theory, Pepper liked this about her husband. In practice, nearly getting maimed by the microwave was unpleasant and had resulted in several S.I. employees to quit. 

Rubber soled shoes squeaked on the floor. “Hey Mr. Stark! Oh, Captain. Mr. Captain America, sir.” Peter Parker panted, one hand on his chest as he skidded to a stop. The teenager sported a shirt that featured a parabola and some sarcastic nerdy words and looked too young to be Spiderman. 

“Under-roos.” Tony acknowledged with a sarcastic salute. “What are you doing out of 3rd, I mean 6th period?” He patted his leg like he was calling a dog. Stark scrolled through a projected app on his smartwatch. 

Peter’s backpack thudded when it hit the floor. “You know my schedule?” 

“Jarvis, Karen, your bad-ass suit.” He ticked off inventions on his fingers. “I’m their creator. Come on, kid. You’re smart. Let’s get those synapses firing on all neurons.” Tony snatched Clint’s cup and crushed it once the emptiness registered. 

“Kid.” Steve interrupted. 

Peter sputtered as he noticed Captain America’s presence. “I-I am sorry. I promise I’ll watch you in detention. Karen said she’d call you Mr. Stark. This is an emergency I promise.” 

Tony swiped to open the encrypted messaging app that the Avengers used. “Huh. So, she did. I forget to take this off silent. Whoopsie.”

Barton smirked and everyone knew Tony was lying through his teeth. The man could act like an ass, but he knew better than anyone how he fucked up by ignoring the vigilante in the making. Stark could program everything while binge-watching eight seasons worth of serial dramas. Hell, he overrode Pepper’s directive to ration his caffeine intake at least three times a week. 

“Wait, explain.” Steve furrowed his brow and realized that he had accidentally used his authoritative Captain voice. “Please.” He added quietly. 

Tony held up a hand. “Easy Cap-sicle.” 

Steve sputtered and murmured under his breath. Clint leaned against the end of Bucky’s bed like a loyal guard dog. The poor man had endured H.Y.D.R.A.’s torture for decades only to be caught in the middle of Avenger’s drama. So, Clint positioned himself between the posturing titans and braced for impact. 

“She called.” Peter bounced in his sneakers. “I think…Ned and I can track it. He’s awesome. He’s downstairs, waiting for the elevator I think. I hope. I sort of…skipped security? I’m sorry Mr. Stark. The web will dissolve in a couple hours.” 

“Wow, you’ve really perfected the ratio. Look at that, he’s totally stuck to the wall.” Tony flipped the tablet to show Clint a clip of a security guard wriggling against Spiderman’s flexible bonds. 

“Ew.” Clint commented. Stark typed commands through his phone to his all-knowing AI and motioned to the teenager. “Yo, rewind and play at half speed Spider-ling.” 

“Start at the beginning.” Rogers drained the last of his double espresso. To the casual observer, he may have sounded calm. But Clint recognized the cool dissociation of simmering anger. 

Peter inhaled a shaky and shallow breath. The heroes he admired and modeled his own code of ethics after, waited for him to clarify what he knew. Once he began speaking, the words gushed like an arterial bleed. Buried somewhere in the extraneous language that Parker stumbled through, lay the key to Maximoff’s whereabouts. 

***


End file.
